Harry Potter and the Subtle Knife
by katyana
Summary: Harry finds he has a strange affinity with a stranger he meets on a park bench near the Botanic Gardens in Oxford. This encounter only gets stranger when he is introduced to Kirjava, Will's 'cat'. Crossover with His Dark Materials
1. Chapter One

Harry sighed. Yet again, he'd been abandoned whilst his cousin Dudley was enjoying himself. Mind you, it could have been worse – although he didn't think that being left with Mrs Figg would be half as bad now that he knew she was a squib, she was still an old lady with an overbearing fondness for cats. Non-muggle or not, he was fairly certain he'd have been bored stiff if he'd been left back at Privet Drive with her.

Of course, the Dursleys hadn't trusted him enough to leave him on his own at their house. He could picture Uncle Vernon's face now - "look what happened while we were here! Do you really think that we'd be stupid enough to leave you here on your own? We'd probably come back to find the house had moved to China or some other bloody awful place!" Harry had been very tempted to say yes, he _did_ think that they were that stupid, but had thought better of it. If he had, his uncle might have changed his mind about not locking him in his room. The only reason he'd decided not to do that in the first place was the thought of another group of wizards storming his home while he was out, and spiriting Harry away somewhere. Harry smiled to himself at that thought, until he remembered where he had been taken the year before…. 12 Grimmauld Place…Sirius' house.

Forcing himself not to think about it, he turned his mind to where he was now. Stood outside a theatre in Oxford, with no idea what to do, where to go and with three hours to kill. Dudley, his beefy cousin, was currently at some rock concert by a band Harry had never heard of – it always amazed him how much the Muggle world changed between terms at Hogwarts. He could never recognise any of the popular groups anymore, but it didn't really bother him. Anyway, Dudley was at a concert (although it seemed a little ostentatious to call it a concert – more like people screaming at each other accompanied by heavy bass guitars and a lot of drums). Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had gone to the theatre with some of his uncle's 'business associates'. Which meant that he would spend the whole time trying to convince them to buy drills and stuff, and she would spend it getting increasingly more annoyed at her husband's inattentiveness, whilst she was actually spying on the people sitting in the opposite box. Not that Harry had ever been to the theatre with the Dursleys, but they were so predictable it was funny. And Harry needed desperately to laugh.

So it was that he, Harry Potter, was strolling aimlessly around the streets of Oxford, wondering how to occupy himself for the next three hours.

Half an hour later, he was still wandering. It was beginning to get dark, and he guessed it must be about ten o'clock. Perhaps not the best time to be wandering around a strange city, but he didn't really have a choice. He was beginning to seriously wish he'd asked Hermione if there were any wizarding areas, like Diagon Alley or Platform 9 ¾ in Oxford as soon as he'd found out he'd have to come here. Admittedly, that had only been that morning, but he was fairly certain Hedwig could have made the journey to Hermione's and back in that time. Now he came to think of it, he wasn't actually sure where she lived, which was a little odd. In the five years he'd known Hermione, he'd never visited her home, and had only met her parents once or twice. He knew it was somewhere in the middle of England, he just wasn't sure exactly where. Then again, he'd been to Ron's house loads of times, and couldn't have told anyone where Ottery St Catchpole was. He supposed he'd never really had to pay any attention – every time he'd visited the Weasley's, he'd gone by magical means of transport, so it was kind of understandable.

By now Harry had wandered into a large park which was clearly a haunt for the locals. He had already passed several gangs of teenagers, whom he had skirted around carefully. He could defend himself, of course, but there had already been so many misunderstandings where he and magic out of term time were considered, he'd rather not risk it, and he didn't want to try and outrun them in a strange place. Several of them had even looked more brutish than Dudley, which he hadn't thought possible. So when he saw a lone boy sitting silently on one of the benches, he approached warily.

As he got closer, the boy looked up, and Harry caught his breath. In his eyes, there was something…a pain, which he had never thought to see in anything but a mirror. There were terrible things in the boy's eyes, loss, dreadful knowledge, and passion. But only for a moment did Harry catch a glimpse of the soul hidden deep in this boys eyes. The moment passed, and the emotion was buried.

Despite his wariness, Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

"Hi," he said, sitting himself on the bench next to the boy, who he reckoned was perhaps a year or so older than him.

"Hi," came the unresponsive reply. Harry realised that he was going to have to get a conversation started – this boy clearly wasn't the chatty type.

"Er…I like your cat," he commented, as he spotted the lithe creature curling itself round the boy's legs.

"What! What cat?" the boy asked, startled out of his silence. "I don't have a cat! Why would you say I have a cat? Because I don't!" He seemed startled, panicked even, by Harry's suggestion that he could possibly have a cat. What gave him away though, was that as soon as Harry had mentioned it, his eyes had gone straight to where the cat was. Even Harry, used to bizarre occurrences as he was, found this a little odd.

"Ok…Oh, look at the time! I have to be going!" Carefully, he began walking slowly away from the strange boy.

As he turned his back, he was sure he heard a second voice.

"Will! What if he could see me? Like Serafina could?"

"Don't be daft, he couldn't possibly…"

"Will! I think you should call him back.'

"Why? It's more likely he spotted some stray tabby behind me.'

"You're just scared. I bet Lyra would call him back…"

Startled, Harry began walking a little faster. Bodiless voices had never been a good omen for him.

Will sighed. It had been a long day. He had woken up early, not having been able to sleep. He never could, not on this particular day. He'd spent the whole day working at the fruit and veg shop wishing the day would go that little bit faster, so that the evening could take its time. Then, as soon as he had finished work (five minutes before he was supposed to), he had rushed to the park bench where he was now sitting. Not that he cared if he lost his job, he only had it to help Mary pay the bills, and as he was still at school, there wasn't much else he could do except take any job he could in the summer. This grocery assistant had to be the worst yet though, he was on a pittance and he didn't think he could face another leek.

So he had been sitting there, on the park bench, with Kirjava, since six o'clock. Seemingly staring at what must have been an absolutely fascinating dustbin.

He could almost feel her, when he concentrated. He knew Kirjava could feel Pan. The two daemons had a connection that went at least as deep as his and Lyra's, if not deeper. He had sat here, on this lonely park bench, for five hours, dreaming and reminiscing of her. Lyra. His Lyra.

And then, that boy had walked up. He had untidy black hair, clothes that clearly didn't fit properly and round glasses that might have been fashionable five years ago, but certainly weren't now. But it had been the expression in his face that had startled Will the most. Determination, bravery and sorrow and…recognition? Will felt it – as he looked into that stranger's eyes, he could sense that the two of them had much in common. Each had faced much, far more than others their age had. But while Will quickly sealed off the emotions, the boy's face had remained open and honest. There was a certain naïve trust that Will both envied and automatically liked in the boy. Nonetheless, he didn't feel it necessary to make conversation, so when greeted, he replied very curtly in an attempt to ward the boy off.

And then, he had said that he liked his cat. Yes, he supposed that he could have meant some stray behind him, but deep in his heart, he knew that this strange boy really had seen Kirjava. How? In three years he hadn't met a single person except Mary and himself who could see the daemons. And then, on this night of all nights, a boy walks up and announces that he liked his cat?

He hadn't wanted to go after him, but when she'd said, "I bet Lyra would call him back…" he knew he hadn't had a choice. He had to know what made this boy so special, what meant he could see, but not recognise what Will himself could only see after months of practise. How had he seen the daemon?

"Wait!" the boy cried. Harry hesitantly stopped and turned round. The boy was sprinting up to him, the cat following agilely after. For a moment, he thought about running, but something about the boy stopped him.

"Sorry, it's just… can I talk to you? Somewhere more private, I mean,' the boy gasped, out of breath from the running.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, sorry! My name's Will – Will Parry. I live just up the road, if you want a coffee or something…"

Against his better judgement, Harry nodded.

"I'm Harry Potter," it was nice, he thought ironically, to greet someone with that and not have their eyes automatically flick upwards to his scar.

Shaking his hand, he followed the boy out of the park and up the next street. At least it's well lit, in the event of an emergency, he thought. Not that he would really be in much danger from a Muggle boy, but there was something else in his eyes that Harry recognised from someone else…Sirius. That look of despair, the knowledge that this person would have no scruples if he needed to get something done. That scared Harry, even as he recognised that determination in himself.

The boy – Will – led Harry up to a terraced house in a one of the shabbier streets near the park. There were bright orange marigolds blooming in the flowerbeds under the windows, and the front door had been painted a cheerful glossy green. Someone had clearly made an effort to brighten the place up, but the peeling paint on the windowsills and the empty cans and cigarette butts scattered around told a different story. This wasn't the nicest area in the city.

Despite this, Harry couldn't help liking the place. It was an entire world away from Privet Drive and his Aunt and Uncle, who would never even have ventured this far down the road. There was something comforting about it, the fact that this place was so lived in and so obviously a home.

Will had unlocked the door, and was stood waiting for Harry to enter. Shrugging to himself, Harry threw caution to the winds and went in.

As Will followed this stranger - no, Harry - into the hall of the little house he shared with Mary and his mother, he wondered again what had possessed him to invite him round.

He could be a serial killer, or another of those tabloid journalists, he reasoned to himself. And yet…he trusted Kirjava with his life. She was his life. And he knew that she would never have suggested this if there was something wrong with this boy. But even that wasn't enough to silence that niggling doubt at the back of his mind.

He could see that Harry had been having similar doubts. The momentary pause before he had entered the house had not escaped his notice. Surely a psychopath wouldn't be worried about entering a potential victim's house. Would they?

Even so, he wished that they had just stayed outside, or gone to the nearest café. He also hoped that neither Mary nor his mother were home, as he had no idea what he would say to them if they were. 'Oh yes, this is just a random boy I brought in off the streets because he said he could see a cat.' He couldn't see that going down too well with either of them.

Well, there was only one way to resolve this.

Harry was fascinated. It was soon becoming obvious that his first impressions of the house had been right. Although he had been brought up in the Muggle world, the only homes he had ever seen were his aunt and uncles, 'Aunt' Marge's and Mrs Figg's, and all of them had been decorated fairly similarly. Grey, with floral patterns and thick pink carpets. The wizarding places he had been in were different – full of clutter, leftovers from mediaeval or Elizabethan times, an often untidy mixture of old and new that meant there was always something to looks at. This, however, was – well, amazing. Instead of thick carpets with patterns raised into them, the wooden floorboards of the house had been left exposed, covered only by a long thin rug that stretched the length of the hall. The walls were painted a gentle cream and the only furniture was a coat stand right next to the door, which was piled high with various jackets and coats. It wasn't elaborate, and definitely not expensive, but Harry liked it.

He turned to ask Will whether he should leave his shoes on or not, but the other boy was frowning at a note that had been left next to the door.

Instead, Harry bent down, and went to stroke the cat that was now twining itself around his legs.

"No!" Harry jumped, his hand automatically jerking away from the cat.

"I...I'm sorry! It's only a cat, I didn't think…"

"_She_ is not only a cat," Will replied haughtily. "Her name is Kirjava, and I would very much like to know how it is you can see her,"

Harry's eyed widened in surprise, whilst his right hand crept towards the pocket where he kept his wand. It looked like he might be needing it after all.

"What do you mean, how can I see her? It – She's a cat for goodness sake! Why shouldn't I be able to see her?"

Will had panicked when he had seen Harry bent down to stroke Kirjava. At first he was outraged – how dare he? Then the rational part of his brain kicked in, soothing, saying, how could he know? And now you'll have to tell him something. But not the truth. You know you can't tell anyone the truth.

"Well, sometimes she scratches and I wouldn't..."

"Will!" He sucked his breath in sharply as he felt claws digging into his ankle. "Tell him!"

"…Did your cat just talk? Are you sure it's a cat? Not an animagus, or, or..something? " To Will's amazement, Harry seemed only vaguely fazed by Kirjava's ability. This was – unexpected.

Will raised his eyebrows. "A what? But… She's not a cat, not really."

"An animagus. Someone who can change into an animal at will? No? What is she then?" By now, Will was almost beyond surprise at Harry's serenity. His 'cat' had just spoken to him, and he got this little reaction? He was almost disappointed!

"She's my daemon."

Harry blinked. This was a turn of events and no mistake. The boy had a talking cat! Mentally he skimmed through 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', but couldn't recall anything about talking cats, except sphinxes. This clearly wasn't a sphinx.

And now he was being told it was a daemon, whatever that was. He couldn't remember ever coming across the word before, but then as he never paid that much attention in class…where was Hermione when you needed her?

So instead of a knowledgeable 'ah' or an amazed but satisfied 'ooh, of course!' Harry replied with the first thing that came into his head.

"Huh?"

Will frowned. This was getting stranger by the second. "You don't know?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "Should I?"

"No, no. It's just, I thought… Well actually, I didn't know what to think." He sighed. "Well, you'd better come and sit down. This could take some time. Do you want a drink or anything?"

"A cup of tea would be brilliant, thanks. I'll just - wait in here, shall I?"

"Oh, no! Go sit down! The living room's just through there. I won't be long."

Will watched Harry make his way into the living room. As soon as he was out of sight, he strode into the kitchen, where he turned on Kirjava.

"What the heck are you playing at? You have no idea who he is!"

The cat stared up at him, and blinked slowly.

"Kir! Don't do that! Answer me!"

If she could have raised her eyebrows, she would have done. "Can't you feel it? He can help us. I don't know how, or why, but he can."

Will was unimpressed. "Great. All this based on a feeling? A pricking of your thumbs? What am I supposed to tell him?"

"The truth. Go out there and tell him everything. He needs us as much as we need him."

"How do you know?"

"We daemons…we're more…connected than you are. To the earth, I mean. We feel more, sense more. I don't know how to describe exactly. But you have to tell him."

He sighed. "I trust you. But it doesn't mean I'm happy about this."

He remembered what he had gone into the kitchen for in the first place, and put the kettle on to boil.

Harry, feeling very intrusive, wandered into Will's living room. He perched nervously on the edge of a battered armchair.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in this situation. At least, he thought, Will hadn't shown any psychopathic tendencies. Yet. Harry wasn't that scared of any person near his age anymore, not after Voldemort. A tiny voice at the back of his mind kept whispering about polyjuice, but Harry dismissed this as paranoia. Even that wouldn't explain the talking cat.

The talking cat! Will had seemed quite confused when Harry hadn't known what it- _she_ - was. His bewildered look had made him feel quite guilty that he didn't know, although he knew that wasn't his fault. He was pretty sure he'd remember if they'd covered talking cats in class.

Will walked into the room and Harry found himself jumping to his feet, as he would for a professor at school.

The other boy chuckled wryly, and handed Harry a steaming mug.

"Sit down. This is quite a long story."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Taking the mug from Will, Harry shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. The other boy was plainly reluctant to tell his story; whatever that story was. But he knew all too well how difficult it could be to relate things to other people and so didn't press Will to begin even though they were still sat in silence several minutes later.

Instead the two boys sat in silence, Kirjava lolling casually on the back of this sofa, paws draped over the edge. Despite the two boys' edginess, she appeared to be the very epitome of relaxation.

Harry was draining the dregs from his now cold tea before Will spoke.

'I'm sorry Harry, it's just… Difficult, you know?' Harry nodded understandingly.

'Yeah, I do. You don't have to-'

'But I do,' Will interrupted him 'I need to tell someone. I'll go mad if I don't. Although… You may think that I already am when I've finished.'

In the silence that followed this rather ominous comment, Harry considered the number of times that he found himself recounting a difficult tale for someone else.

In fact, every year since he started at Hogwarts had included at least one little 'chat' with Dumbledore. Well, not chats exactly. More often than not, they were an epic retelling; where he'd finish his story with his throat sore, his brain wrung and the headmaster with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

The only time that twinkle had been missing – was the last time, after his most recent… Escapade. An escapade where Sirius _died_, he reminded himself fiercely. But the fact that even Dumbledore, the only person Voldemort feared, had lost the glint in his eyes after the events in the Ministry – that scared him. Even after Cedric, there had been that fleeting glimpse of triumph in the old headmaster's face, but when they had returned to Hogwarts, Harry couldn't recall anything. Nothing to give him hope, allow him to dare dream that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort wouldn't win. The practical side of his brain told him, you were emotional, how could you possibly notice anything like that? You'd just lost the closest thing to a father you'd ever had. _It's me_, he thought, _it's my fault that Sirius is dead. It's my fault that Ron, Hermione and Ginny have to have security in the holidays as well now. It's because I'm a danger to those around me. _

Part of him screamed in frustration, it's not your fault! It can't possibly be your fault! If anyone is to blame, then blame Voldemort. But still that other, traitorous part of him said, _yes, yes it is my fault. Without me, Sirius would be here. Without me, so would Cedric. And if it hadn't been for me, my parents would still be alive. _Deep down, he knew this wasn't really true. He knew that Voldemort would probably have gone after his parents eventually anyway, particularly if they were the bright young couple, so full of potential that everyone told him they had been. But if it weren't for him, if it weren't for that stupid prophecy, they might have had those few months, maybe even a few years, longer.

The prophecy. He had pushed it as far to the back of his mind as he could all summer, trying to ignore it and hoping that if he did so, it would go away. But now he had thought of it, and it refused to leave him alone. He got a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach every time he thought of it. If he, Harry Potter, failed, that would be it. But how could anyone expect **him** to defeat Voldemort, who was probably the most feared wizard in history? Stop, he told himself. There isn't anything you can do, He's not here, for the moment you have nothing to worry about. Unknowingly, he smiled wryly as he thought of 'Professor Moody's' catchphrase – CONSTANT VIGILENCE! He had a depressing feeling that it would be the mantra of his life until Voldemort was defeated. Or until he was. But, it was true; there was nothing he could do, with no magic, no-

'Harry!' Will's voice awoke him from his thoughts. 'Are you ok?'

'What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine.' He blinked, flustered. 'Sorry, what were you saying?'

'There's someone at the door. I won't be a minute.'

Will shot a concerned look towards his guest, before going out into the hallway to answer the front door. Harry had been completely out of it for a few minutes then – which was concerning in itself, but the look on the other boy's face had driven all thoughts of Will's own story out of his mind. He knew he'd been through some pretty dreadful things, but the expression that Harry had unconsciously had on his face had downright scared him. What, he wondered, could a sixteen year old have experienced that would leave him feeling like that. He had looked – terrified.

The doorbell rang again as Will approached it. Through the glass pane at the side of the door he could make out a figure, but the lack of light made it impossible to decipher who it could be. As far as he knew, the weren't expecting anyone; there had been a note on the fridge door to say that Mary and his mother wouldn't be back until later, so it couldn't be them. And it couldn't be any of his friends – he didn't have any.

He hesitated before opening the door, careful to wedge his foot behind it so that it could only open a crack. He was well aware that this neighbourhood wasn't the nicest around, and it wouldn't have been the first time the gangs from the park had come knocking.

When he did open the door, it was to reveal one of the strangest strangers that he had ever come across.

'Are you Will Parry?' the stranger asked.

Harry buried his head in his hands in mortification. How could he have drifted off so easily into that morbid reverie whilst a guest at someone else's home? His frequent attacks of conscience were bad enough when he was on his own without inflicting them upon others. Plus he didn't need Will knowing about his issues before they'd even known each other an hour; he was sure that there would be plenty of time for that later.

But would there be? Could he in all conscience allow Will and himself to become friends? They were well on their way to that already; yet the tiny, insidious voice in his head that insisted that Sirius, Cedric and his parents were dead because of him told him to run, run now before he got too close.

Escape while you're still indifferent. It was an old policy of his, used back in the years while he was still at school with Dudley. He would shun what few attempts at friendship were made towards him for fear of his cousins bullying. Perhaps it was time to reinstate that policy, to protect people. Don't associate with me, it's likely to get you put on a hit list.

There he went again, feeling sorry for himself. Harry wished, desperately, that he could stop, but he couldn't seem to lift the melancholy that had settled on him since the Department of Mysteries.

Maybe it would be better if he left now; he could get back to the car without the Dursleys even noticing that he'd gone anywhere, and Will… Will would be safe.

Yes, that would be better. Will seemed to have lost interest anyway, preoccupied with whoever was at the door.

Sighing, he stood up and placed his empty mug on a table next to the sofa, disturbing Kirjava as he did so. The cat opened one eye to watch him, unnerving Harry. It looked like he'd never find out what was going on here. He made a mental note to look Daemons up in the library at school; or at the very least get Hermione to look them up for him. It was frustrating leaving what he knew could develop into a good friendship, but Harry couldn't risk anyone else. It was bad enough that people like Ron and Hermione insisted on associating with him without bringing hapless muggles into the equation. Although… Kirjava certainly wasn't a normal animal. He didn't think Will was a wizard, but there was something…

No matter. If he hesitated now, his resolution would crumble. Face set, Harry strode in the direction of the hallway. Unnoticed by him, Kirjava leapt down from her perch and padded calmly after him.

As he neared the doorway, Harry heard a voice.

'Are you Will Parry? May I come in for a moment?'

Puzzled, he stepped into the hall.

'Pro-professor?'

Will was utterly confused. In fact, this entire night had been full of bewilderment. He still wasn't sure why he had invited Harry home; it certainly wasn't solely because of Kirjava's taunts. And now, another stranger had turned up on his doorstep, asking for him – and yet he seemed to know Harry quite well!

He had opened the door with his usual caution, to find a haggard looking man with what looked like a grey dressing gown on. And a rather tattered dressing gown at that. Despite his disreputable state of attire, the man seemed friendly enough. His hair, although long, was well kempt, and his exhausted face had a pleasant smile on it.

This was odd in itself, but the situation was made even more peculiar by the arrival of Harry on the scene. After a moment's disbelief, the other boy had run straight at the stranger and flung his arms around his neck. The older man, to Will's embarrassment, had tears in his eyes.

Unsure as to what to do, Will stood in the doorway of his house, the light from the hallway flooding the two figures on his doorstep with light.

He couldn't believe his eyes! Professor Lupin – sorry, Remus, here! Why, Harry didn't know, but he was determined to find out as soon as possible.

He was a little embarrassed about his reaction upon seeing his old professor; what must Will think of him? But he hadn't been able to help himself – he hadn't seen any of his friends since the end of term and despite frequent correspondence Harry was yet again feeling distinctly isolated from the wizarding world.

Releasing Lupin, Harry took a step back.  
'What are you doing here?'

Unfortunately, Lupin had now overcome the shock of seeing his unofficial Godson in somewhere that wasn't Surrey. He ushered them inside, shutting the door

'No, Harry, the question is what on earth are **you** doing here? You should be safe at home. You have no idea who could be around and there is no protection for you here! Why have you left the Dursleys?' Harry was very indignant at this rebuke; despite the fact that it did look like he had run away from his relatives and that his past record was against him.

'I didn't! They-'

'No, you can explain later. For now, you'll have to stick with Mr Parry here.' briskly, Remus turned to Will, 'You are Will Parry, aren't you?' Will nodded warily.

'Read this,' he handed Will a piece of paper. 'Done? Good.' Taking the paper, he pulled out his wand, whispered, 'Incendio' and watched the paper slowly crinkle up and burn.

Will had no idea what just happened. With no explanation whatsoever, he had been given a slip of paper to read. '12 Grimmauld Place' – whatever that meant. Then, the stranger had produced – a wand? - and had promptly incinerated the paper.

'I'm Remus Lupin. I'm sorry, but we really don't have time for explanations now. Harry, you know what this is?' he held up an old fashioned key, 'Good. You have five minutes. Will, you need the knife.'

'What? How…'

'It doesn't matter how, but bring it. You can only bring what you can carry, and you must be carrying it. Your mother and Mary are safe. I have to go. They may be searching for me. I will see you at Headquarters.' He turned to Harry.

'Please, be careful. I don't want to lose… Be careful. You know how much you mean to me; to everyone. Be strong, Harry.'

With that, the man turned and walked out the door. Will could just make out a blurred shape through the glass as he practically ran down the street.

'Harry? What was that about?' Harry was looking at him with a shocked look on his face. Will's words seemed to galvanise him into action.

'I promise, I will tell you later. But for now, we're working to a schedule. Is there anything you'll need – don't worry about clothes, but anything else?'

'No, I don't think…'

'Good. Then you'll need the knife, whatever that is, and Kirjava. You'll have to carry her.'

'Why? I don't understand.' Harry's face was grim.

'Neither do I. But I'm expecting a lot of answers when we arrive. Go, find the knife.'

It felt awful, ordering his friend around like that. Particularly when said friend had absolutely no idea what was going on.

What was this mysterious knife that Will had been ordered to bring, Harry wondered. It must be important for Dumbledore to risk one of his operatives to come fetch it. Or was Remus sent for Will? Harry had no way of knowing until they arrived at Grimmauld Place. Speaking of which-

'Will! We've got two minutes! You need to be down here!' Will's head appeared at the top of the stairs.

'One second! I'm trying to find something to put it in,' A moment later, Will came rushing down the stairs with a battered old rucksack over his shoulder. Judging by the ink and correcting fluid that marred the fabric, it was his schoolbag. 'Ok, ready. Where do we go? I'm assuming that's the key for wherever it is?'

'Not… Exactly, no. You'll need to pick Kirjava up. If I've timed it right, we should have thirty seconds left. It's more of a metaphorical key. Here, grab this end.' Harry handed Will the key's handle. 'I'll take this end. Now, we wait.'

Thirty seconds later silence reigned in the now empty house.

Harry lurched forward. He really did hate portkeys with a passion. He staggered over to Will.

'You ok?'

The other boy looked dreadful. His face had gone a deathly pale, and he seemed to be trying not to retch.

'What the hell was that?' he spat.

'That, my friend, was magic. Come on, we'd better get inside.' Harry grabbed his hand and led Will to the doorway of an unremarkable terraced house. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Still feeling a little dizzy after that – thing, Will stumbled after Harry through the front door of the house.

Inside it was dark and cool and despite it being a little musty Will felt a lot better. He let his eyes adjust to the gloom before taking in his surroundings. They were in a dark hallway of what might, at one point, have been quite a grand, decadent house. Now however, it was cold and uninviting despite obvious attempts to cheer it up, such as a large painting of a garden scene hung on one wall and a cheery rug spread over the cold flagstones.

'Harry? Where are we?'

He stepped into what might have been a sitting room at one point. Despite the uninhabited appearance of the place, the room was surprisingly clean and tidy, with just a thin film of dust coating everything. It was, however, empty.

'Harry?' the other boy was looking round hesitantly, as though expecting something to happen. 'What's up? You _do_ know where we are, don't you?'

'Yes. Yes, of course. This is – was my godfather's house.'

'Was?'

'Yes. He… died, a few weeks ago.'

'I'm sorry-'

'Don't be. You didn't know him.' Will was shocked at the ferocity of this reply. 'I'm sorry Will. It's just… it was my fault. And I really, really miss him.' This statement was followed by a long silence, during which Harry gazed at a blank patch of wall unseeingly, and Will tried hard not to stare at his friend. How could it have been his fault? His earlier doubts were resurfacing, increasing with every moment of silence. What on earth did he think he was doing? He had no idea where he was – and neither did anyone else. Anything could-

'Come on. It's obvious that no one's here yet. We may as well sort out rooms. I reckon we'll be here a while.' Will was rather grateful for this suggestion; not only did it break the heavy silence, but Harry's calm voice shattered the doubt's he'd been having. After glancing round fruitlessly for a light switch, he trudged up the gloomy staircase after Harry.

Harry's mind was in turmoil. He hadn't been back here since Sirius…

Where's the Gryffindor in you, say it, damn you!

Since Sirius died. Somehow being in his house – you couldn't call it a home, it was more of a prison – made it so much more real, so much more painful. In his head, Harry was still expecting some exotic bird to fly through the nearest window with a message from his godfather; 'don't worry, see you soon!', or something equally uninformative.

The house was completely empty; that much had been obvious as soon as he had stepped through the front door. It looked as though nobody had been there since the beginning of the summer holidays; which was odd, as he didn't think the Order would be particularly willing to relinquish such a valuable asset. He added the questions this fact presented to the already long list he had prepared for as soon as he saw someone to ask them to.

'Harry?' With a start, Harry realised that he had almost walked into a bathroom; only Will's warning had prevented him from tripping over a discarded laundry basket next to the door. He frowned; he didn't think Mrs Weasley would have willingly left the place in such a mess. They must have left in a hurry.

'Sorry Will. Er… Well, this was mine and Ron's room – and that one was Hermione and Ginny's… So… Why don't you take that one? It's been empty for a while, as far as I know,' he gestured in the direction of one of the closed doors. 'I'm going to go see if there's any of my stuff in my room; I'll come help you make it habitable in a minute.' Will nodded in reply and left with Kirjava, leaving Harry standing in the dark hall alone.

Instead of going into his own room, Harry continued up the second set of stairs. He knew full well that there was a drawer full of old robes in his room, which would do at a pinch. Although he didn't know what Will was going to do for clothes; maybe he could borrow some of Ron's. He certainly wouldn't fit into anything that didn't even fit Harry anymore, who despite a growth spurt was hardly what you'd call tall.

Harry was startled out of his reminiscing by the sound of the front door opening. He suddenly noticed quite how cold he was, and how stiff his neck and back were from sitting slumped against a damp, mouldering wall for far longer than he should have. He had no idea how long he'd been up there; and he'd completely forgotten about Will.

He jumped up, wincing slightly when he realised that his left foot had gone dead, and went to the top of the stairs. He couldn't quite see the main hallway, and had to descend a few steps before he could make out the sea of redheads massing just inside the front door. One of the stairs creaked, and one of the people below turned to see what the noise was.

'Harry!'


	3. Chapter Three

Will had been sitting quietly on the bed in the room Harry had left him in, trying to get his head round what was happening. He was alone; Kirjava had slinked off round a corner to explore.

He could hear the other boy moving around somewhere, but only barely. This place was huge – and empty. The bed he was sat on was enormous and covered with some sort of elaborate bedspread, but he could clearly see woodworm holes in the frame and although the bedspread may have at some point in history been a deep red, it was now a most uninspiring tone of grey.

Harry seemed to have forgotten him. No matter; he was good at thinking things over on his own. Sighing heavily, he flopped backwards onto the bed, raising a cloud of dust as he did so.

"Will! Are you in here? Oh, there you are. That Harry boy is sat crying his heart out up there. But I think we ought to leave him alone," Kirjava's head appeared round the doorframe, "he seems to want privacy. This place is huge; you could easily fit thirty people in the top two floors alone. I wonder why it's so empty?"

"I wonder why on earth we came at all!"

"Come on, you know why. You could see as well as I could that Harry – and that Lupin person – were scared by whatever was following them. Although I'm a little concerned about Mary, if there's a chance that whoever was after the knife-" Will sucked in a breath in shock, "-don't act surprised, you know that was what they were after. Anyway, I hope Mary has the good sense to avoid trouble."

Will paused a moment before replying. "I don't think she'll be in any danger. What they wanted was the knife, and that's not there any more. Which means-"

"That we're the danger."

"Yes. But why would anyone, let alone a total stranger, want to bring that upon themselves? If someone's after the knife, then they must know what it does, which means that-"

The sound of the front door below opening stopped him abruptly. Eyes widening, he jumped to his feet and crouched against the wall behind the door, Kirjava curling herself up in his arms.

Someone entered – no, more than one person, there was far too much noise. They didn't sound dangerous; Will knew from bitter experience that the majority of people going into places where they shouldn't be tended to be as quiet and furtive as they could. The low sound of voices from below comforted him slightly on this logic - but, he reasoned, there is always a first time for everything.

"Harry!" The shout made Will jump; he hadn't been expecting it. But it was more of a squeal of delight than of anything else, suggesting that these people, whoever they were, knew Harry – and liked him. Warily, he stood up and went to the top of the stairs.

At the bottom were six or seven people, most of whom had startlingly red hair. They had to be close relations. The one person without red hair Will recognised – barely. Harry was surrounded by four excited people all hugging and slapping him on the shoulder in greeting, and from where Will was standing he could hardly see Harry for the redheads swarmed around him.

"You must be Will." A calm voice called up to him. There was a fifth redhead, a much older woman – the mother? Will wondered – stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him. "We were expecting you; Harry's being here is a bit of a surprise, I'm afraid. Now, I expect that you could do with a cup of tea, no?"

The woman bustled him into the kitchen, talking without pause whilst she sat him down and put the kettle on. Will didn't really mind; the fact that Harry clearly knew these people, and knew them well, had left him feeling rather isolated. It wasn't an emotion he was unfamiliar with, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"…I do wish they'd let us clean up a little in here before we left, these teacups are a state." The woman – Molly Weasley, she'd said her name was, exclaimed over the pile of dishes. "No matter." And then she produced a long wooden stick – which could only be another wand – and muttered something under her breath that might have been Latin. To Will's amazement, the neglected washing up started cleaning itself – and doing a rather good job of it, he noted.

This was getting stranger by the minute. Of course, he'd seen magic before, but never on such casual level – these people were so, so nonchalant about using magic. He'd had no idea that it could be used for such commonplace things, and their seeming disregard for it certainly didn't tally with the reverence for their powers which Serafina and the other witches of his acquaintance had. And that Professor Lupin had done magic; he'd never heard of male witches before, and he didn't _look_ like a shaman. No, these people definitely weren't using magic in any way that he was familiar with.

"You realise," Kirjava said softly as she wound around his ankles, "that they probably won't tell you anything unless you tell your story. And that would mean-"

"Telling them about Lyra." He sighed. "I know."

"Sorry dear, did you say something?" Molly Weasley was looking at him rather strangely.

"Um, no. No, I didn't." It was strange; this woman didn't see to be able to see Kirjava. Odd, then, that Harry had. Maybe it wasn't something to do with magic after all, but more to do with the individual – but that didn't make sense!

"To be fair," Kirjava pointed out, "nothing really has made sense these past few hours." He couldn't really argue with her.

Molly was still watching him, with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. As Will glanced up at her, she shook her head slightly and beamed. "Well dear, I'm sure you'd like some peace and quiet – there's no point trying to introduce you to that lot yet." She gestured towards the hall, where Harry and his friends were still making a fair bit of noise. "Why don't you go get yourself settled in. You might want to straighten up a bit as well; Professor Dumbledore will be along shortly with the rest of the order, and you'll want to look presentable."

So Will found himself being ushered back up the stairs, noticed only by the youngest redhead, the only girl, who was perhaps two years younger than himself. She smiled warmly at him, before turning back to the conversation with the boys.

"That's Ginny, my youngest," Molly said proudly, noticing where he was looking, "But don't worry, you'll get to meet everyone later."

Before he knew it, Will had been skilfully removed. When he thought about it, he was a little resentful at the way he had been shunted out of the way, obviously in order for the others to have a private conversation.

"They could have asked – I wouldn't have minded." He said to Kirjava.

"Really?"

"Well, maybe I would have… A little… Alright, - don't look at me like that!- a lot. I wonder what they're saying."

"Probably something to do with Harry. Nobody seems to have expected him to be here; remember what Lupin said about 'protection'? There's something odd going on there."

Will had forgotten about that, but she was right. Then again -  
"Something stranger than broken knives that could split things smaller than atoms?"

"Good point."

I wonder, Will thought, what a normal life would be like.

* * *

_I know, I know, this has been absolutely ages in the process. What can I say? I'm terrible at commitment!_

_This chapter's a lot shorter than the others; this is because I originally wrote the story to go on Schnoogle, where they have a 3000 word min. limit. I don't, however, have the time or energy to write that much per chapter and adhere to the strict grammar rules they have on there. That means that this is unbeta'ed - so please, please, please! Feel free to criticise away! _

_My thanks to Adelian, who really spurred me on to get this chapter finished. _


	4. Chapter Four

Seeing the Weasleys again – particularly Ron- was almost like being back at Hogwarts, Harry thought. He hadn't realised quite how much he'd missed his best friend, just for someone to talk to. Not that he and Ron ever really discussed anything important; that was Hermione's role, and they were both perfectly happy with it that way. But, Harry realised, he could talk to Ron about silly, trivial things, just _talk _– something which he couldn't do with any of the Dursleys – writing letters simply wasn't the same. Yes, he'd definitely missed his friends.

It wasn't for some minutes that any of them were able to make themselves heard over the others in their excitement.

"Harry, what the heck are you doing here?" Ron asked, the huge grin on his face taking any sting out of the words.

"Yeah, we were going to ask you to stay soon, but Dumbledore said we had to wait, and anyway, we weren't expecting you to come back here, not that we aren't happy to see you again, but-"

"Calm down Gin-gin," Fred advised.

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to explode with excitement," his brother agreed.

Harry grinned at their antics, the gloominess which had settled over him earlier quickly dispersed through the sheer cheerfulness of the red headed bunch.

"But Harry," Fred began, "we really weren't expecting you."

"I forgot!" Ron gasped, "and I was supposed to be making friends with him as well! We're supposed to be meeting someone here, showing him the ropes and stuff."

"Will Parry?" Harry asked, curiously. "Don't worry, he's here. I think I just spotted your mum ushering him off into the kitchen."

"Nah, she just sent him upstairs," Ginny said.

"Probably wants to make sure her ickle Harrykins is alright before she starts on any order business," George leant over and ruffled Harry's hair, which perversely actually made it lie more neatly than usual.

"Actually," Mrs Weasley stood behind him, hands on hips and a scowl on her face, "_She_ wanted to give Will a chance to collect his thoughts before letting you lot descend on him. You're quite excited enough with Harry here. I'll send one of you up in a bit – Dumbledore should be here in a few minutes, and he'll need to be back down by then. Now, Harry. I'm sure we're all very curious as to exactly why you're here," the way she said it made Harry feel extremely guilty, even though, as he reasoned with himself, he hadn't actually done anything this time. "But I'm sure it can wait fifteen minutes or so."

Mrs Weasley rather efficiently herded her children and Harry into the kitchen. They milled around, looking apprehensively at the dust and cobwebs as she briskly tied an apron around her waist.

"Now dears, I'm sure you'll agree, we can't have the place looking like this for an order meeting, even a small one. Fred, George? You two are in charge of the hall; I want it as clean as possible before people start arriving. Ginny, Ron, you two can help me in here. Hop to it!" Despite being a great deal stronger and taller than their mother, even Fred and George didn't dare argue with the Weasley matriarch when she had a house to clean. As soon as she was satisfied that her children were getting on with the tasks she had assigned them, Molly turned to Harry, who was still standing rather uselessly by the door.

"Er, Mrs Weasley, if you like, I could-" He started, more out of politeness than of any conviction.

"No, Harry, it's quite alright. I doubt Dumbledore expects the place to be spotless anyway. Would you do me a favour and make sure Will's alright though? I assume you've met him, as you could only have arrived here with him."

"Yes, we've met. Who is he?"

"None of that now, dear. Just go and check he's settled in properly, knows where the toilets are and things. Poor dear, he seemed a little bewildered."

Harry nodded; he could quite understand someone feeling rather overwhelmed when meeting the Weasleys for the first time, even if it was only half of them.

"Oh, and Harry? Ask him to bring the knife to the meeting, will you?"

He nodded again in understanding. What was this knife people kept on about? It had to be important – possibly it was the reason Dumbledore had brought Will here. _But what could a knife do to help combat Voldemort_? Harry wondered. For the second time in as many hours, Harry found himself wishing he had Hermione on hand to refer to. He really would have to stop thinking of her as a walking dictionary, he realised with a twinge of guilt.

* * *

_Suggestions and criticism are greatly appreciated - and chapter five is in the works!_  



	5. Chapter Five

When Harry reached the door to the room he'd left Will in when they first arrived, he hesitated a second – he could hear voices inside. He crept a little closer to try and make out what they were saying, but it was no use; at best, all he could make out was the odd, muffled and completely meaningless word from their low muttering.

_A set of extendable ears would come in extremely useful right now_, he thought wryly. He very much wanted to know what the mysterious Will Parry had to say. Clearly, however, there was only one way he would find that out.

Straightening himself, he knocked softly on the door.

"She might not be able to see me," Kirjava was saying, "but I like her. The woman."

Will was a little distracted. "Yes," he replied absentmindedly, "she does seem nice. But then, a lot of people do." Kirjava shook her head, despairing at his cynicism. Will just ignored her, and continued with his task – carefully withdrawing a tightly wrapped, slightly grubby bundle from his rucksack.

"They're going to want to see this, Kirjava. Do you think we ought to let-"

"Wait-" she interrupted, ears pricked. "Just so you know, Harry's just outside the door. I don't think he'll be able to hear us though - it's an old building, and the walls are pretty thick." Will frowned.

"Can we trust him, do you think?"

"Can we trust anyone? But yes, this one I think is trustworthy. As for the others – I couldn't say. But then, I doubt we'll be given much of a choice."

"It's a risk. But you're right. We probably won't have a choice."

There was a tap at the door. Leaving his bundle, still folded, on the bed, Will got up to answer it.

"Hi," Harry said, rather sheepishly. "D'you mind if I-?" He tailed off, and simply gestured inside the room. Will smiled slightly, shook his head at the implied question and stepped back to let him in.

"Listen, Will," Harry began, walking over to the window as Will pushed the door to behind him. He gazed out onto the street for a moment, as if processing his thoughts. "Listen," he repeated, "I'm sorry about earlier. Leaving you like that…"

"It's alright." Will said, mildly. It hadn't bothered him that much; after all, he always had Kirjava for company.

"It's not. I shouldn't have just abandoned you like that. I… Had a few things to deal with. Still, I shouldn't have just walked off, without giving you any sort of explanation." He turned abruptly, and looked intently at Will. "I know how it feels not to know what's going on, even though you're perhaps the most important part of it. So I'm sorry."

Will was a little taken aback by the ferocity of Harry's apology. Clearly, there was a story here, but now was not the time to hear it. Before he could respond, Kirjava jumped lightly onto the bed.

"I assume that this means that we will be getting some sort of explanation?" She cocked her head, questioningly. Harry smiled tightly at her.

"Of a sort. To be honest, I don't know exactly what's going on myself, but I'll let you know as much as I can. Now, Mrs Weasley said that they'd want to see the knife-" Harry didn't miss Will's slight flinch and the pointed, knowing look he exchanged with Kirjava. "-and I'm certain that whatever it is they want you, and this knife, for, it's something to do with the Order, and Voldemort, but…" He tailed off again.

"Well, I've an idea," Kirjava piped up. "An exchange of information. You tell us something, we tell you something." Harry nodded.

"That could work."

"Yes, it's a good idea." Will sat down next to her on the bed, and ran a hand gently over her fur, smiling proudly. "And, seeing as we're in the unfamiliar setting, we get to go first."

"Sounds fair," Harry admitted. "Okay then. But we've only got a few minutes before we have to go downstairs and meet the Order."

"We'll have to make it quick then – I'd rather not go down completely ignorant. Alright, first question. What _are_ you?"

Harry shot him a blank look for a second, before realisation dawned, and he chuckled.

"Oh, I see what you mean. Well – I'm a wizard. And the Weasleys – the people downstairs – are wizards too. And witches. Although if you're asking about me specifically… It gets a little more complicated than that." He paused, as if unsure whether to continue. "That's your question then. My turn! Tell me… Tell me what Kirjava is. Because I'm sure I don't know of any cats that can talk, though clearly it's not impossible. And I want to know what this knife everyone's talking about is."

Will sighed.

"Yes. I thought you might." He reached over and picked up the bundle he had laid down earlier, but didn't unwrap it. "This is it. It – I lost my fingers to it." He held up one hand, fingers spread. Two of his fingers ended in stubs just before the knuckle, the skin around the injury pink and smooth, as though newly healed. Harry let out a hiss of breath in shock.

"Ouch. That must have _hurt_."

"You have no idea. But I am its bearer – this is its mark. Here," he held out the bundle for Harry to take. "It's called the Subtle Knife. At least, it used to be."

Gingerly, Harry took the packet. Perching on the bed, he carefully unwrapped layer upon layer of fabric. Finally, he removed the last strip, to reveal a pile of gleaming, razor sharp shards of an unfamiliar metal.

"It's broken." He said, rather stupidly. Will rolled his eyes; Kirjava sat back on her haunches, tail twitching. Harry didn't notice – he was completely enraptured by the shattered remains of the knife in front of him. Without even realising what he was doing, he reached out to take the hilt. As he picked it up, one of the shards sliced the base of his thumb. The cut was so sheer that he barely felt it, and it was a few moments before a thin line of blood welled up beneath it.

"Still sharp. How – it's beautiful. It just makes you want to touch it-" He stopped abruptly, and dropped the hilt as if scalded. Hastily, he wrapped the knife back up before handing it back to Will. The other boy took it solemnly, nodding in sympathy.

"It affects some people like that. Compels them. It was worse before it got – before I broke it the first time."

"But what does it do?" There was no hesitation in Harry's voice; he had no doubt that this knife possessed some sort of powerful – very powerful – magic. Even its remains were practically buzzing with a strange sort of energy. It was Kirjava who answered his question.

"It used to cut through things. That is, after all, the purpose of a knife. But this one – it cut through anything." She fixed her gaze on Harry, looking him right in the eyes. "Anything. Including realities."

Harry frowned – what did that mean? But before he could ask, there was a brisk knock at the door. Without waiting for a reply, Ginny walked in.

"Are you two – oh! What a beautiful creature." She walked over and bent to stroke Kirjava before anyone could stop her. Will flinched, and his face blanched. Ginny straightened.

"She's gorgeous – I'd rather have her to stay than Crookshanks any day." She stopped, noticing the sudden tense atmosphere in the room. The smile on her face faded, and a slight frown creased her forehead. "Is everything alright? It'd better be – mum sent me up to tell you that Dumbledore and the rest of the Order are downstairs. They need you two to start the meeting."

Visibly pulling himself together, Will stuffed the bundle containing the knife into his waistband, tucking his jumper over the top of it. Picking up Kirjava, and holding her protectively, he nodded.

"Alright. We're ready."

* * *

_A/N - This has been on my hard-drive for months now, waiting for a little inspiration to finish the chapter off. For that, I apologise; I hope you enjoyed it._


	6. Chapter Six

Will hung back, letting Ginny lead the way down the stairs. Harry noticed his reluctance, and tried to smile encouragingly at them.

Now there was a puzzle; why was it that both he and Ginny could see Will's – Kirjava? He'd noticed their tension when Ginny had bent to stroke the cat; it was becoming more and more evident, however, that Kirjava was far more than just a cat.

"Harry?" Will said in a low voice, trying to avoid the redheaded girl from hearing. She seemed alright, but he was still a little shaken from her unexpected touch. He wasn't sure which shook him more; that she had done it, that he could still almost feel it, even though she hadn't been anywhere near him, or that – and this scared him – he had rather enjoyed the feeling of intimacy with another person, which he hadn't felt for some time.

Harry nodded slightly to show he was listening, immediately aware that this was something which the other boy did not want to share with anyone else.

"You asked about Kirjava. I don't really know how to explain properly, but I… I think I might need your help. You see, a daemon-" he paused, searching for the right comparison, "a daemon is sort of my familiar. But more; she's part of me, part of my soul. It's sounds silly, but it's true. And I can't have anyone touching her; do see why?"

There was an urgency in Will's voice that startled Harry into glancing at his face; he had gone very pale, and there was a look of determination and in his eyes that Harry thought he recognised. It was a look that said that whatever Harry's answer would be, Will would do everything within his power to ensure that Kirjava remained sacrosanct.

Harry didn't really have a choice; he nodded, just once.

They were at the bottom of the stairs now. Harry found himself lagging behind the other two, his mind roiling with all that had happened over the last few hours. No wonder Will had reacted so strangely to Ginny's gentle kindness; he could see that it might be a little… Intimate, to say the least, to lay your hands on another person's soul. But Ginny couldn't possible have known that; clearly, she had made the same mistake which he himself had made earlier that night.

Who was this boy, and his house-pet of a soul? Why could he – and Ginny – see that soul? And, perhaps most importantly of all, what did Dumbledore want with a knife that was broken?


	7. Chapter Seven

Ginny held the door open for them; it was made of heavy, solid wood and it took the whole of her weight to hold it back. Will tried not to flinch away from her as he brushed against her arm on the way through; he didn't notice the puzzled, and slightly hurt expression which crossed her face, although Harry did.

It was a large, dingy room, dominated by what was presumably a dining table. It was the sort of table usually found in dodgy B-movies about vampires; so long that to ask someone at the other end for salt probably involved either a megaphone or a telecom system. The table was just as mockingly empty as those in the films, too. Will glanced around the room, to see if he was wrong; no. There were only four other people in the room other than himself, Harry and – no, Ginny had gone, allowing the door to swing smoothly shut behind her. Slightly hysterically, Will found himself wondering where the ominous creak had been.

"Will?" Harry made his name into a question, tugging slightly on his arm and pulling him towards the figures at the other end of the room. Will allowed himself to be pulled, not really sure what else he could do at this juncture.

"Hello, Harry. And welcome, William." The voice that greeted them sounded tired, over-wrought. As they approached, Will could make out an old man in the gloomy half-light from the candles on the walls. The speaker was… eccentrically dressed, to say the least, in what appeared to be a deep turquoise nightgown patterned with cabalistic symbols, or something. He had a long beard of the sort that one normally describes as white, but was really the sort of yellowy grey one sees in the very old. But for all his age and apparent fatigue, the old man seemed lively enough. He stood up at their approach, offering a gnarled hand to Will.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, William Parry. And I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last." Will raised an eyebrow; clearly this man was very well informed.

"I am indeed, Mr. Parry," Will repressed a gasp at this rather disturbing display of omnipotence. "But you needn't worry; I cannot actually read your mind. And my information about you, contained here," he gestured towards a thick manilla folder on the table, "tells me a lot more about you – and your experiences – than simply your name."

"Professor-" Harry was frowning, clearly almost as confused as Will himself was.

"Patience, Harry. Firstly, let me introduce my companions. Mrs Weasley, and Mr. Lupin, I believe you have already met. And this is my trusted advisor, Severus Snape."

The other stranger nodded regally at Will, although he did not acknowledge Harry's presence in the room.

"Now, if you please, Mrs Weasley, I think we would all appreciate a cup of tea and some of your simply marvellous shortbread." Dumbledore's clear dismissal of the woman surprised Will, but not nearly as much as Mrs Weasley's meek acceptance of it. Wizards, he was beginning to see, held some rather antiquated values that had little to do with their fashion sense.

As soon as Mrs Weasley had left – this time, accompanied by a satisfying creak of the door – Dumbledore gestured that they seat themselves.

"Now, Mr. Parry. Do you have it?" Again, there was a no sign of uncertainty in the man's voice; this was not so much of a question, as a demand. It made Will's hackles rise, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Kirjava practically spitting at the man's brusqueness.

"Have what, sir?" The surprise on the man's face wasn't worried, Will realised. He was merely shocked that Will was prevaricating. A strange reaction, for someone – if this was the same Dumbledore in Harry's earlier stories – who claimed to be a teacher, and a headmaster, no less. But the surprise lasted only a second, to be replaced with a look that wasn't quite anger, but could quite easily become so.

"The knife, you mean? Yes, it's here."

"Well, boy, let me see, let me see!" Dumbledore almost cackled, his impatience all too clear. Will had a sudden flash of foreboding; this would not end well.

As he reached under his jumper, all three men leaned forward, the candlelight casting bizarre and grotesque shadows on their faces. Will glanced over at Kirjava, who simply flicked her tail in the feline equivalent of a shrug. She was right; he'd got himself in too deep to back out now. Resigned, he pulled out the fabric bundle that protected what remained of the knife, and reverently placed it on the table in front of him.

Dumbledore reached forward, and slowly began unwinding the fabric, unconsciously leaning further and further in, until he was no longer sitting on his chair.

Finally, the knife was uncovered, and the pieces lay glinting in the candlelight.

Snape spoke for the first time since Will and Harry had entered the room.

"It's broken. What do we do now?" He stated, in a flat tone. Dumbledore simply looked horrified.


End file.
